


Don't Answer the Phone!

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie has fun at his expense, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Het, Ichabod doesn't care for them, Movie Night, Suspense Movies, Teasing, horror movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Abbie and Ichabod have a movie night and watch horror movies.</p><p>Inspired by this passage from <i>The Secret Journal of Ichabod Crane </i>by Alex Irvine:</p><blockquote>
  <p>"I began watching this movie and found myself unable to look away. Then I, who have looked demons in the face and battled the minions of hell itself, was reluctant to extinguish the last light before I slept. Perhaps I will refrain from mentioning this to Abigail, who doubtless would seize the opportunity to tease me mercilessly."</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Answer the Phone!

**Author's Note:**

> I had to. It's a bit crackish, but I think it's agreeably cute.
> 
> I do not own _The Secret Journal of Ichabod Crane_ or _Sleepy Hollow_. Or the movie I reference in this fic. Thanks for reading!

One of the best things, if Ichabod had to put that kind of designated list on things within this century, about modern inventions was the television. He found great enjoyment in scientific fiction and the bounds that the creators did not adhere by. Fantasy was also interesting, it not more outlandish. Who was he to put a label on ‘outlandish’, anyway? He enjoyed watching history programs most of all, nevermind his great irritation when he found that the facts were wrong.

Miss Mills didn't like documentaries on history. She liked scientific fiction, depending on the movie. She secretly liked romance, although Ichabod wasn't supposed to know that. She took great pleasure in reality television, something of which Ichabod did not understand in the slightest. And then, of course, there were the horror movies.

Ever since his first, accidental, horror movie, he had been less than inclined to settle on any program that was remotely suspenseful. It wasn't right, that he could go to war, be killed, go through reincarnation in ties with a Hessian that he had beheaded, and, on the road to impedimenting the Apocalypse, fight demons along the way... and still be unwilling to snuff out the light when it came time to retire for the night after watching a horror movie.

Abbie, naturally, thought that it was hilarious that he had little tolerance for movies of such calibre, going so far as to suggest a movie for him only for him to realize, too late, that it was another one of those blasted suspense films. Usually, he wouldn't realize it _was_ until something had jumped out and murdered an unsuspecting victim on the small screen of the television. Abbie would laugh about it the next day after asking him what he thought of the movie and receiving a stony glare in response.

Ichabod knew it was good-natured. Just as Abigail was inclined to share horror movies with him, he had no problem watching endless hours of war films whilst she was visiting the cabin. Abbie always responded with a yawn, however, whereas in the other way around, Ichabod usually responded with a flinch.

Yet, he never told her _no_. He didn't know why.

Just as now, where he was perched on the edge of Abbie's sofa, dragged into yet another movie night that had turned tides against him. Ichabod had forgotten the name of the movie. To be honest, he had been trying to tune out Abbie's overly good-natured chatter about the movie as she had inserted the shiny disc into the small box below her television. Now, he couldn't tune the movie out at all, inexplicably drawn back into the action that never failed to make his heart thud unevenly in his chest and the hair on the back of his neck have the inability to lay straight.

The premise in this particular movie was that victims were receiving phone calls after watching a particular film, and after they received a phone call, they would die. The concept sounded a lot less frightening than it actually was on film; Ichabod found himself leaning irrationally closer towards the television, licking his lips unconsciously in nervous fascination. Surely someone was soon to die. The latest probable victim in question had received the phone call seven days ago. Ichabod knew what was bound to happen. It annoyed him that it didn't soothe his nerves, just as the two and a half cups of tea he had consumed had not helped to calm him at all, either. In fact, it had just seemed to make him more jittery, he thought, as he winced at a loud noise on the television.

Abbie shifted next to him. She didn't look the least bit fazed about the happenings on the screen, just intent. She had been consuming a large quantity of ‘popped corn’, and still was, her hand moving between the bowl and her mouth and her eyes never leaving the television.

Ichabod huffed softly, jerking his attention back to the movie at a scream. These types of movies did not afford looking away.

There was a loud noise, then, nearby and all consuming - not in the movie. Ichabod's heart must have shot straight to his throat.

The noise happened again and he realized, very quickly, after his pulse had stopped rushing in his ears, that it was Abbie's phone, vibrating against the table.

His nerves stretched tight suddenly again, Ichabod looked from the vibrating phone to Abigail. She looked back at him; he could see his own position mirrored in her eyes: body rigid, breathing accelerated, eyes wide. His mouth was dry and his veins were singing with adrenaline; this was the lure of horror movies, but suddenly, it was far too real.

Abbie reached for the phone.

There were several things that Ichabod could do. He could shoot a man point-blank range if a mission necessitated it. He could take a shovel to Death if his instincts demanded it. He could read lore on demons and exorcise those demons without batting an eye if the world required it.

But he couldn't stop the irrational jolt of pure panic that shot through his body as the Lieutenant reached for her phone.

He couldn't let her pick up that phone.

"Miss Mills-" he started hurriedly, reaching out to grab her wrist before she could do something that might potentially never be undone-

\- but she had already picked it up. "Mills."

Ichabod held his breath for what seemed like an eternity to him. Much more of this and he was sure he was going to be permanently scarred.

"Captain," Abbie greeted.

Ichabod's breath left him in a rush, shoulders slumped as he imperceptively curled in on himself. Definitely much more of this and he was going to develop psychological problems. How did the inhabitants of this century handle so much suspense or the fear of something unknown jumping out from a dark corner?

"Yes... no. Yeah, of course. Yes, ma'am. I'll get on that tonight. Goodbye." Abbie ended the call, giving Ichabod a look from her side of the couch. "Just the Captain. Not a demon or anything."

"I gathered as much," Ichabod replied stiffly.

Abbie tossed her phone onto the couch with an eye roll. Ichabod replied with a small smile - a sulking one notwithstanding - and looked back at the television.

He stayed on her sofa longer than strictly necessary that night, until she said either he was walking home or she was taking him back now. Ichabod grabbed his coat in response and slipped it on to follow her to the car. Through their absent-minded conversation (now on the topic of fried food), he didn't notice that he was following inexcusably close to her until she stopped and he walked right into the back of her.

"My apologies-"

"You're going to be like this all night, aren't you?" Abbie replied, arms crossed but a smile in her eyes.

Ichabod blinked. "Like what?"

"Hovering." She gestured to the nearly non-existant space between them. "Thinking something's going to attack me because I answered the phone for my _Captain_."

"No. Of course not." Ichabod forced himself to take a step back. "It was only a movie," he added.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Abbie replied, the corners of her lips lifting before she turned to walk to the driver's side.

"I am perfectly convinced," he replied, opening the passenger door. "Besides, if I were to be worried about any potential attack, it would be for seven days, and not just one night."

"Oh, you are so not mother-henning me for a whole week. Don't even think about it, Crane."

He wouldn't - he knew he wouldn't get away with _trying_ , much less accomplishing to shadow her for a week - but he knew he _would_ breathe easier after a week had gone by. Because, who knew? In their world, stranger things could happen. (He was trying not to think about it.)

"I'll call you later," Abbie said, once she had dropped him off at the cabin.

Ichabod leaned down and braced his hands against the outside the car to fix the Lieutenant with a very pointed, hopefully unimpressed glance through the car window.

Abbie just laughed and waved before pulling away.

Ichabod slept with his phone off and a single light on.

 


End file.
